Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 03

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light down on Gwennalyn and Deiara as they rode through the cobbled streets of Rendevel. Up ahead, a building beckoned them forward, pink curtains fluttering on the windows, sounds reaching them from the open front door.

Gwennalyn was to be in Rendevel for a week, accompanying her parents as they visited their vassal city. As their daughter, she was not expected to do much more than be at the feasts as a pretty and otherwise vacuous presence.

It had been a month since her experience with the orcs. Something inside her had been awakened, some hunger for congress, some desire for unchecked carnality. Since then, she had spent every night with Deiara. They would spend much time entangled together, bodies writhing, hands exploring, mouths tasting. Sometimes, Deiara would have a guardsman or soldier visit her, and Gwennalyn would watch them, the male always unaware that the princess was watching him ravage her handmaiden, fantasizing that she was at the mercy of his desires instead.

Luckily, Lucien had left, returning home to assist his father in his duties, freeing her from having to spend time with him. Despite the understanding they had reached about their mutual lack of love, he had still insisted on bothering her numerous times a day. But with him gone, she had more time to herself, and more time to cavort with Deiara.

The two women stopped outside the pink-curtained building. The ride from the castle had been simple enough; the challenge had been finding a way out of the castle that would not arouse suspicion or attention.

It would not do for the princess to be seen coming here.

It had been Deiara's idea to come here.

The Pink Petal was a brothel, slightly higher-class than some of its competitors. Its owner, Caria, had been a courtesan overseas in Arzaros, sharing a bed with one of the Arzaroan nobles; when the specific noble had died, sans heir, he had left her with the bulk of his wealth. While Caria could have lived comfortably with minimal effort, after a visit to Rendevel, and the Pink Petal, she had bought the brothel. The large amount of time spent with the Arzaroan noble, who had been in charge of coin for one of the larger noble families, had helped Caria hone a keen mind for business. So along with refining and reshaping certain practices to improve morale for the prostitutes, understanding that they were the lifeblood of the brothel, Caria had created an opportunity for curious and coin-laden women. These women were given the opportunity to work for her, entertaining the men who passed through, living a night in the life of a whore, something which apparently interested many highborn women. They would pay to spend a night there, dressed and perfumed like a whore, their husbands and fathers none the wiser. Deiara had heard about it from some Rendevelian handmaidens, and had come to Gwennalyn, with the idea that it might help soothe the lustful cravings that had recently sprung up inside her. The princess had initially balked, despite the interest such a notion provoked.

"It would be all too easy for me to be recognized," she had protested.

"Princess, do you really think the Pink Petal's patrons know what you look like up-close?"

She had shrugged at that, unsure of the answer.

"They don't," Deiara had supplied, "and even if somebody does, they would just think there was a strong resemblance. Who would expect the daughter of the king to be whoring in Rendevel?"

Deiara had continued in the same vein. The spirited pleading had made Gwennalyn smile, as she could tell that her handmaiden, who had promised to accompany her and partake in the same charade, sorely wanted it to happen.

"Very well," she had finally relented, "but I want to take a tour, see the premises."

"That's part of the package," Deiara had countered, "the first step. You can tour, and then back out if you feel nervous about it all."

Her handmaiden had returned later in the day, having apparently set up a tour for the next day. Cleverly, Deiara had switched their roles, presenting herself as a visiting dignitary, and Gwennalyn as her handmaiden.

The tour had been enlightening, helping to soothe certain misgivings that Gwennalyn had still held.

But a swooping anxiety in her belly had still persisted. She had imagined it would not go away until she was in the midst of the charade.

Part of the package that Caria offered also included transport to the Pink Petal, from two of the guardsman that helped keep order in the brothel. The two men who had been waiting for Gwennalyn and Deiara looked like any other man; they wore no armor, no helmets, only carrying swords hanging from their hips. As it was night-time in an unfamiliar city, Gwennalyn had appreciated the service.

Before they had snuck from their room to slip out of the castle, Deiara had given her a potion, one that looked similar to white blossom tea, but slightly darker in color.

"It's called safe brew," her handmaiden had said. "It's to make sure you don't catch anything unseemly."

Gwennalyn had arched an eyebrow at that.

"Lots of strange men visit the brothel. The white blossom tea will stop you from coming away with a baby, and this'll stop you from coming away with something much less cute."

She had drained the cup, trusting in her handmaiden.

Caria was waiting for them just inside the front door.

"Greetings, ladies" she said.

"Good evening, Caria," they responded, following her deeper inside, up the staircase, to a door on the first landing.

Caria opened it, to reveal a small room, with two small tables and a trunk.

"We 'ave clothes and perfumes for you 'ere," Caria said, gesturing around the room, "choose what you want, and come downstairs to the main room."

She left, closing the door behind her. Gwennalyn was struck with a sudden nervousness, but Deiara stroked her shoulder, sensing the uneasiness.

"No one will recognize you," she purred, "it'll be fine."

Gwennalyn nodded, and headed over to the table, while Deiara went for the trunk.

There were various perfumes on the table; one smelled of flowers, another of sweet redberry, a third of amber wine. She chose the redberry for herself, and Deiara picked a fragrance of Serquillian wildpeach. The trunk was full of various clothes. Gwennalyn chose a blue gown, cut low and hemmed high; Deiara slunk into a white dress, filling it out better, stretching the fabric tighter over her bust and hips.

The main room downstairs was already filled with people, alluring women, and lonely men from all over, seeking to bed them. Plush couches dotted the room, while small trenches, filled with blooming flowers, lined the walls, giving off a fresh, exotic smell to all of the proceedings.

One man caught sight of Gwennalyn, and beckoned her over. One of the other whores was sitting next to him, her hand stroking his shoulder.

"What's your name, beautiful?" the man asked her.

She curtsied, smiling innocently. "Aleia, good sir."

"Good sir?" he chuckled. "I'm no sir, Aleia."

The other whore giggled, gesturing for Gwennalyn to join them on the couch. She hesitated, glancing around to keep an eye out for Deiara. Her handmaiden, even the eager pleaser, had been quickly invited over to another man, and was currently sitting on his lap, chatting away.

"Come then, Aleia," the other whore purred, "sit alongside our new friend; he has wonderful stories."

She sidled alongside him, her hand moving to his other shoulder, but he quickly shrugged both of them off, standing with a rakish smile.

"Let's go upstairs, my beautiful ladies. I have a room ready and waiting."

The other whore smiled, clapping her hands together, quickly standing up to follow him. Gwennalyn was a bit slower to react.

As they headed upstairs, the other whore slowed down, allowing Gwennalyn to catch up to her.

"You must be a royal or something," she purred, "because I've never seen you before."

"My lady is here," she whispered back, "I'm her handmaiden."

"Ah," the other woman said, nodding. "Welcome to the Pink Petal. I'm Lismiel. Just follow my lead with him, okay?"

She nodded back, feeling a bit better.

They reached the room, slipping inside after him. He reclined on the bed, grinning.

"Do you ladies know who I am?"

"Of course," Lismiel purred. "A man like you is always preceded by his reputation."

He beamed; Gwennalyn had no idea who he was, but she nodded along, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Why don't you two get to know each other a bit better?" he suggested.

"I already know her very well," Lismiel teased, slipping behind her to kiss at her neck, "but I would never say no to that."

Gwennalyn shivered as those warm lips slid along her skin; deft hands darted underneath the gown, stroking along her bare thighs, finding her exposed mound. Fingers brushed along her wet folds, just that slight stimulation weakening Gwennalyn's legs. She let out a soft moan, slumping back against the other woman, hearing an appreciative sound from their patron. The look on his face was a mixture of anticipation and excitement. In short order, his trousers began to tent, heralding his own arousal. Gwennalyn's was heralded by the amount of juice trickling over Lismiel's questing fingers. It felt great, felt wrong in all the right ways.

There's no going back. This is just the beginning.

"Let's move to the bed," Lismiel purred, removing herself from Gwennalyn. She took a moment to strip off her dress, winking saucily at the man on the bed. Her body was round and soft, heavy breasts crowned by thick nipples, her mound nestled underneath a strip of dark brown hair, glistening with arousal.

She sat on the edge of the bed, crooking her finger to gesture for Gwennalyn to join her. Smiling widely, she took a moment to take off her own dress. Her body was slim and slender to Lismiel's abundance and lushness. It provoked a similar arousal from their patron than Lismiel's had.

Her arrival was met by Lismiel. The whore giggled as she pulled Gwennalyn towards her, hands quickly exploring this new and unfamiliar territory. Their mouths clashed, Gwennalyn sighing into the contact, shivering as those feminine hands teased at her breasts. Her hands mimicked Lismiel's; there was more flesh for her to survey, more weight to them. She briefly forgot their patron as she luxuriated in the way Lismiel felt, her lips, her plentiful curves.

Lismiel broke apart again, crawling back on the bed next to their patron, spreading her legs.

"Come here, Aleia," she invited, running her hands up her thighs to frame her wet folds.

The invitation was quickly accepted, Gwennalyn inserting herself in the middle of those thighs. Fragrant dew was rapidly gathering on those pink folds, so she quickly dove forward, running her tongue along the slit. The creamy fluid was coated her tongue with tanginess; the husky moan that spilled forth from Lismiel made her shudder, the unrestrained desire easily audible. It made her mine for more, her tongue slithering back down the length of the slit, more nectar trickling out onto her taste buds. Her hunger increased, so she pushed her tongue inside, feeling the warm walls clutch at the incursion. It was only the second quim she had ever tasted; much like the first, it was utterly delicious, making her wonder why it had taken so long for her to discover such a carnal delight.

Her tongue swirled around, more cream dappling it. One hand dimpled Lismiel's thigh, squeezing unconsciously. The other was sliding down in between her own thighs, finding her own sex dripping, aroused by the taste of another woman. The knowledge of an audience also helped hike up her lust. Their patron had a hand down his trousers, stroking himself, very much enjoying the show.

Gwennalyn idly wondered if the noises that the whore made were real or dramatized. Lismiel was obviously not just pretending arousal, judging from her wetness, and the way she was squeezing at her own breasts, crushing the soft flesh between needy fingers. But perhaps the moans and groans were somewhat played up to further arouse their patron.

"Gods, your tongue feels so good," she gasped.

Gwennalyn mewled into her slit, watching her reactions, seeing how she bucked, her hips jerking up, her head craning back to shoot a smoky look at their patron.

"Join us," she urged.

Never before in her life had Gwennalyn seen a man move as quickly as their patron did in that moment. His eyes darted back and forth between the whore and the princess; it was easy to see his dilemma of where in this lustful mélange to insert himself. He unlaced his breeches as he went, sliding them down and off, casting them to the floor. His cock was hard, leaking pre-cum, bobbing slightly as he approached.

"Keep eating her out," he ordered Gwennalyn, moving to take up position behind her. She wriggled her ass at him while driving her tongue deeper, relishing the pleased moan that was her response.

In a moment, she felt hardness poking at her folds, and then he sheathed himself inside her, shoving from the head to the base in one quick thrust. She squealed into Lismiel's cunt, making the other woman groan in turn from the vibration.

Their patron knew no patience, immediately beginning to fuck her, pumping enthusiastically into her quim. Although he was not nearly as rough or demanding as the orcs had been, he still fucked her hard, gripping tightly to her hips. The sound of flesh meeting flesh quickly filled the room, joining the eager slurps and wet smacks that were the auditory result of her enjoying the wet slit before her. But now that slit had competition for her attention, in the form of their patron's hard shaft, stirring up her juices, filling her channel so well.

Her fevered moans were muffled by her mouthful. She was reveling in her wantonness, having willingly put herself in this situation wherein she gladly would take a stranger's cock.

To think that before the orcs, a thing like this would have scandalized me.

She ground back at the frantic thrusts, her pussy clutching with need, gripping the hard prick. It was reaching deep inside her, stimulating those places that fingers and tongues unfortunately failed to find. The pleasure it provoked was also different, a harder and more violent sort.

Their patron was enjoying it just as much as she was. He grunted out curses, holding tightly to her slim hips, occasionally bringing his palm down on her undulating ass. Whenever she felt the contact, her cunt would clutch, turned on by the roughness. A bright blush would follow, unbidden and unconscious, no marker of how she truly felt.

The juices trickling from Lismiel upped in frequency; the whore was drenched, her folds oozing sticky cream. Gwennalyn was fastidious in her interception of the fluids, eagerly sticking her tongue in its path or lapping it up once it found freedom on the soaked folds. Her own cunt was sopping, squelching nastily as their patron plundered its wet, velvety depths. Here she was, in between these two people, providing pleasure for both of them, her own pleasure mounting steadily. Her hands squeezed harder at Lismiel's thighs, needing that anchor as orgasm approached.

The first of the three to reach climax was in fact Gwennalyn. The bodily sensations had been augmented by the knowledge of her situation, of how the royal princess was drinking from the cunt of a common whore, while eagerly accepting the cock of a common man.

As the waves of ecstasy washed over her, she brought Lismiel with her, finding the whore's clit, stroking it hurriedly. It took Lismiel by surprise, her body giving in to the stimulation, a rush of cream spilling out to give Gwennalyn a treat. She hummed happily as she gorged.

The sight and sounds of their finishes, plus the sensation of her channel gripping tighter around his prick, drove their patron to his own finish. He gave several more thrusts, each one rougher than the last, and then stilled. Wet warmth bloomed inside her a few moments later. She shivered, slightly embarrassed by how turned on she was from this stranger spilling his seed into her clutching cunt. Her womb was supposedly Lucien's to fill, but here was a man, whose name she did not even know, clogging it with his thick spend. The orcs had forced her, up to a point, but this had been of her own free will. No struggle or reluctance had stood in his way. As he sighed, drawing back, she knew that it was far from the last batch of cum she would receive this night.

A wet sound hit her ears when he removed himself from her. She turned to see him brandishing his prick with an expectant look on his face. It took her a moment to understand his unspoken request.

Lismiel had already sat up, and was now stroking lightly along Gwennalyn's shoulder, making her shiver.

"Aleia loves the taste of her own cunny, don't you?"

Gwennalyn nodded, and leaned forward, smiling at their patron as her lips closed over the tip. Her own flavor seeped into her tongue.

He groaned, running his fingers through her hair, his member twitching at her breathless administrations. Suddenly wanting to taste more of herself, she began to lap down the shaft. The bed behind her shifted; Lismiel slid around her, kissing at her neck.

"Clean his cock off so I can clean your cunny," she purred, making both Gwennalyn and their patron moan in anticipation.

Those words spurred her on to work harder, lapping up the streams of dew coating the shaft. He groaned, gritting his teeth, leaning back on the bed.

After a good few minutes, he was still hard, but cleaned of her juices. She pulled back, smiling up at him; Lismiel was practically draped over her, kissing and nipping at her neck.

"Did I do a good job?" Gwennalyn asked coquettishly.

He nodded, breathing heavily.

"So good he can't even speak," Lismiel teased, quickly pushing her down onto her back. Gwennalyn spread her legs, biting her lip impatiently as the other woman settled herself at the juncture of her thighs. Over her shoulder, their patron watched, slowly stroking his prick.

Lismiel descended, taking her turn to taste Gwennalyn. Her tongue slunk slowly up her folds, intercepting a thick trickle of their patron's spend. Gwennalyn shuddered, raising her hips, watching breathlessly. Another lick made her groan, reaching out to take gentle hold of the other woman's dark hair, petting it. Lismiel licked a bit harder, taken with the combined taste, purring contentedly.

As Lismiel cleaned her up, their patron moved up behind her, hands settling on wide hips. His prick, glistening with saliva, was soon sheathed inside Lismiel. Yet again, he fucked hard, huffing as he pounded energetically into her, taking the second woman while she ate out the first.

Gwennalyn watched, transfixed, as the other woman's body shook, bouncing and jiggling at the frantic impacts. The whore moaned out onto her quim, the vibrations delectable, adding to the sensations.

Their patron was ecstatic. Here were two women before him, both moaning, both turned on. It mattered little that they were whores, who were paid to behave in such a way.

Or at least one of them is.

Lismiel drank up another mouthful of cum, swilling it around her mouth before swallowing with a satisfied gulp. Their patron held tightly to her as he screwed into her, a wet slap issuing out every time his prick hilted.

The view from her position was delightful. Lismiel's lush flesh rippled from the constant impacts, all those inches of hard flesh slamming relentlessly, a mist of wetness flying up every time the former met the latter. And although she could not see the tongue working inside her, she could certainly feel it slither and coil as it stole streams of seed. Their patron's load had begun to flow, but it flowed straight into Lismiel's mouth.